


strawberry lips

by Moulinet



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Grinding, Hotel Sex, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:08:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23153032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moulinet/pseuds/Moulinet
Summary: Sweet and tangy, the flavor sticks to Sora’s lips like gloss.
Relationships: Roxas/Sora (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 87





	strawberry lips

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this for a friend!!!!!
> 
> uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

San Fransokyo is a city that never sleeps. The quietude is lost upon cars with bright headlights pulling into fast food joints and the overwhelming number of streetlights that illuminate the darkness so boldly that it isn't truly _dark_ anymore. It's some uninspiring imitation that harbors no secrets or calm. People walk on the sidewalks as if it isn't two in the morning. Life continues as if the sun is up and it's another ordinary day in their lives.

But for Roxas and Sora, it has been an _exhausting_ day. ...Night. An exhausting _night._

They’d been assigned to eliminate an elusive and imperceptible enemy, much like the chameleon Sora had fought forever ago in Deep Jungle. The two key differences were that it wasn’t being controlled by a trigger-happy idiot and that it wasn’t a Heartless, but a _Nobody_.

Roxas was called in for his knowledge of the different classes of Nobodies. Sora was assigned for his expertise and experience, but even with both of them on the case, their hunt had been unsuccessful.

They’d been able to deduce that it’s a monsterous size considering the prints it leaves behind. It has a tail, which had caught Sora in the side with a long sweep. It doesn’t make sounds other than breathing and grunts. And it doesn’t flicker between being visible and not, which is very inconvenient for them.

It’s why Roxas is standing outside the convenience store. It’s been hours, and Sora can’t hold his keyblade upright anymore. They’re winded from jumping from rooftops and scaling buildings. They can’t hunt properly without food and rest. Sora is taking care of the former, Roxas is looking around his surroundings to secure the latter.

He spots a place not too far off and leans inconspicuously against the brick wall of the store. He puts his hands in the pockets of his organization coat, his gloved fingers pulling at the cloth idly as he waits. The brightness of the city burns his eyes, and so he stares downward at his worn boots. His whole ensemble is shabby, but it’s familiar. It’s easy to move in. He knows how to maneuver himself so his long coat doesn’t get caught on anything. He knows how tightly to grip his blades with his gloves on. It’s learned behavior that he isn’t quite ready to unlearn, and so he dons the coat, his expression grim and his heart accepting what it means.

A bell chime denotes the convenience store door opening. Out steps Sora carrying two bags of food with a lollipop in his mouth. He smiles around it as he looks at Roxas. “They don’t have sea-salt ice cream here, but I got chocolate!” Sora digs into his bag and pulls out a wrapped up ice cream. “Is that okay?”

Roxas smiles and pushes off the wall. He plucks the ice cream from Sora’s hand. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Sora grins. He joins Roxas under the awning and looks out into the wide awake world of San Fransokyo. A few cars pass. On the other side of the street, a group of people are talking and laughing. A man passes by in front of them. More cars. The activity never stops.

Roxas opens his ice cream and stares at it, unsure if he wants to try a new flavor, but his stomach decides for him with a loud grumble that has Sora snickering. Roxas nudges him, partially out of embarrassment, partially because he wants an excuse to touch Sora. “Shut up.”

“We could’ve stopped earlier if you were _that_ hungry.”

“Oh, like you aren’t?”

Sora takes the lollipop out of his mouth and turns slightly to look at Roxas. “I’m _always_ hungry.”

Roxas pauses from taking his first bite of the ice cream to laugh. “How could I forget?”

“I don’t know! I keep snacks in my pockets.” Sora lifts his arms, motioning to the bags on his arms. “That’s why I had to restock.”

“Ah.” Roxas chuckles before taking a measly bite of the chocolate treat Sora had gotten for him. He’s had chocolate before; candy bars given to him by Hayner and Olette from their book bags after school, hot chocolate that Pence makes during the colder months with marshmallows and cinnamon, warm chocolate cake from The Bistro topped with hot fudge and caramel, but never chocolate _ice cream_. He’s never thought to try it.

It only takes one bite for Roxas to realize how foolish he’s been.

He doesn’t chew slowly. He dives back in for another bite. It’s vanilla on the inside -- chocolate _and_ vanilla in _one_ bar! He hums as he tastes. Distantly, he can hear Sora’s laughter, but he does not care. It’ll never take the place of sea-salt, but it’s a solid second place.

“I see I don’t need to ask if you like it,” Sora comments, the index finger and thumb of his right hand twirling the lollipop stick in his mouth. His eyes show the laughter he’s unable to voice at the moment. “Did you find a place?”

Roxas nods his head to the left. “There’s a hotel not too far.”

“Great!” Sora sounds delighted. “I don’t want to bother Hiro so late.”

Roxas hums. He’s not humming to acknowledge Sora’s consideration for his other friends, rather the perfect mix of chocolate and vanilla that is this ice cream bar.

There’s a finger pressed to the corner of his mouth suddenly. A thumb sweeping against his skin. Roxas looks at Sora with wide eyes and a blush that spreads quickly. When had Sora moved closer? Usually, he’s more attentive about his surroundings, but Sora is in front of him, thumb pressed against his cheek now. His eyes narrow as he examines Roxas’ face, leaning into his space, but then he straightens and seems to get a hold of himself.

“Sorry, you had chocolate…” Sora trails off. He blinks, becoming aware of their proximity and Roxas’ burning cheeks. “Uhm…sorry.”

Sora hasn’t backed up yet. Roxas can see the slight sheen of saliva on Sora’s lips from his lollipop. They’re tinged red from it. Strawberry _is_ his favorite flavor of anything and everything, after all.

Roxas licks his lips, tasting chocolate and vanilla, but thinking of something else for a moment. “It’s alright,” he says, but as he watches Sora’s lips part slightly, his tongue playing with the lollipop in his mouth, Roxas realizes that it very much is not. He clears his throat, his ice cream bar half-eaten in his hand. “So, the hotel?”

“Yeah!” Sora takes a step back, and then another, sheepishly smiling. The hand that’d reached out to grace Roxas’ cheek is placed in his pants pocket. “Uh, this way, right?”

It isn’t that way. Roxas takes Sora’s hand and leads him in the other direction. He can’t stop thinking about strawberries on the short walk over.

It’s quiet and empty in the hotel lobby when they enter. There’s a television on against the far wall among the chairs and couches that constitute the small seating area, but it’s muted. There’s no one at the desk, either. There _is_ a small bell, however, and Sora wastes no time in strolling up to it and tapping it twice. It dings shrilly in the peace of the room, but its tone drags someone out from behind the front desk.

The receptionist greets them with a raised brow and crossed arms. They look tired. Roxas feels the same. Sora, somehow, has the energy to begin a conversation that Roxas tunes out of immediately. He’s long since finished his ice cream and he’s held onto the leftover stick for some reason. There’s no prize to win on this world, but Roxas still keeps the dirty thing in his hand.

There’s a movie playing on the television. Something that Roxas has never heard of. He looks around at the pretty cream tiled flooring of the entryway, the various decorations to give the lobby life but they only come across as quick and cheap things that barely count as interior design. Vases of fake flowers, paintings with no signatures, one magazine placed on the center table as an afterthought. There’s a small stand full of brochures that Roxas takes a vague interest in.

“We’re all set, Rox!” Roxas looks up as Sora turns away from the desk. He’s holding two room keys in his hand. He’s still got the lollipop stick in his mouth. Roxas knows the actual lollipop has already dissolved. They’re both holding onto garbage that they need to let go of.

Roxas steps forward and takes one key from Sora. “Great. Are our rooms close together?”

Sora doesn’t answer. He chews on the lollipop stick in his mouth and leads the way to the elevator. It isn’t until the button is pressed, the elevator doors open, and they step inside that Sora laughs nervously and says, “Uh, about that…”

So they’re sharing a room.

Roxas should’ve seen this coming. It’s four twenty-three in the morning and it’s last minute; they’re lucky to get a room at all. It’s got a television, a fridge filled with overpriced water, a microwave, and a single bed.

A _single bed_.

This doesn’t seem to bother Sora as he struts inside and places his bags of goodies on the bed. There’s a desk next to the window of the room. The blinds are closed, cream shades that match the tile of the parlor floor. Sora adjusts the temperature on the air conditioning and sits on the edge of the bed. He’s taking off his shoes.

Roxas is still standing in the doorway with a vacant expression. After a moment of watching Sora take off his right and then left shoe and store them under the desk, Roxas decides it’s best if he stops watching his best friend and properly shut the door. He slowly steps inside and finally tosses his ice cream stick in the trash. Then he stands there, hesitantly unsure and clearly lost.

Sora is anything but. He flops back on the bed and scrambles up toward the headboard. The television remote is placed delicately on the pillows and Sora grabs it, reading the complimentary instructions that come with it quickly before tossing them aside. “Any requests?”

Roxas blinks. He awkwardly shuffles toward the bed to sit on it. Not too far from Sora, but enough room is left between them that the distance is comfortable. “I’m cool with whatever.”

“Oh, shut up. I know you like cooking shows,” Sora says without missing a beat. He flicks through the channels until he finds one. It’s a competitive cooking show with a focus on desserts. Roxas doesn’t deny Sora’s claim. He _does_ like cooking shows, especially those focused on sweets. There’s something about seeing every stage of the creation of a largely decadent and edible creation that’s intriguing.

Sora seems content to watch. He reaches for the bag of treats he bought and digs inside for a candy bar. He offers Roxas a soda and Roxas takes it, opening it with his eyes glued to the television.

“Tell me which team is going to win,” Sora says with a smile.

Roxas grins because after only a solid minute of watching, it’s glaringly obvious to him which one it’s going to be.

Another cooking show follows that one. Roxas takes off his boots and inches up closer on the bed. He and Sora share a bag of chips. Sora eats most of them. Roxas lets him. They change the channel after that and watch an old black and white movie. They laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, they look at each other in confusion at the differences in history across worlds. The movie fades into the background soon enough. They’re slumped together at the top of the bed, their shoulders touching and their legs a breath apart further down. Sora’s showing him pictures on his phone. Roxas is scantily aware of it, but he feels his left hand brushing against Sora’s right. Their fingers touch, just barely, and neither of them do anything about it. Roxas chances wapping a gloved finger around one of Sora’s own.

Sora doesn’t remark on it or pull away. Roxas licks his lips.

There’s so many pictures to look through and so many stories to tell. He and Sora see each other quite regularly, but Sora always has something new to talk about. Then he asks Roxas questions. They’re specific, because Sora remembers, and it’s during one of Roxas’ long answers that Sora rests his head against Roxas’ shoulder and closes his eyes.

Roxas trails off, content to end his story there. Thinking that Sora’s asleep, he twines their hands together. It feels nice, aside from him still wearing his gloves. He can feel the warmth of Sora’s hand through the fabric regardless. He leans his head atop Sora’s and lets his hair tickle his nose and chin.

“Why’d you stop?”

Roxas doesn’t jolt from surprise. He doesn’t move, but not out of fear, out of being too comfortable. He’s settled, they both are. He doesn’t want to disturb or _be_ disturbed. So he breathes evenly, moves his thumb along Sora’s hand. “You fell asleep.”

“Did not.”

“You need to go to sleep anyway.”

“Mm,” Sora says, and Roxas isn’t sure if it’s in agreement or general acknowledgement. Sora shifts against him, but doesn’t pull away. “I need to use the bathroom first.”

Roxas doesn’t complain about having to move despite his slight want to. He slowly untangles his fingers from Sora’s and scoots away, giving him some space to get up.

Sora nearly falls head first in Roxas’ lap from the sudden movement, but he catches himself. He drags himself to the edge of the bed and stands, stretching his arms and causing his tank top to ride up a bit.

Roxas’ eyes dart to the small glimpse of tan skin that he sees there, toned and muscular just like the rest of Sora. During their hunt, there’d been moments… _seconds_ , really, when they’d be falling through the sky together, the wind catching their hair and clothing. Roxas’ eyes would glance over and he’d admire the look of lively determination on Sora’s face.

… And _maybe_ peek at his arms and his abdomen when the wind was just right.

Sora didn’t notice then and he doesn’t notice now. He walks around the bed and scratches at his neck as he heads to the bathroom. He casts a glance at the clock on the bedside table and grimaces. “We should _both_ be heading to bed soon.”

Roxas doesn’t answer because he feels like he’s the _only one_ who realizes the problem with that.

Sora yawns as he enters the bathroom. The door closes with a soft click and Roxas is left alone with a plastic bag full of trash and a warm feeling that managed to reach through his glove and into his hand. He’s still and quiet as he inwardly debates with himself.

Are they… They’re not _sharing_ a bed, right?

He’s never shared a bed with Sora before. There were times during sleepovers and homework sessions that Roxas would, inevitably, end up passed out on Pence, Hayner or Olette’s bed, waking up at two in the morning, confused by every aspect of where he was and why. There were times he, Xion, Lea and Naminé would pass out on the couch after watching a movie, a lumpy mess of drool and arms sprawled in directions they shouldn’t be, cuddled together under blankets. But none of those affected Roxas in the same way as the mere _idea_ of doing something similar with Sora.

So…the desk is a suitable alternative. Roxas has slept on his fair share of desks thanks to school. There’s an art to it that he likes to think he’s mastered. The floor is a last resort, but there’s _options_.

Roxas fiddles with his hands. Idly, he brushes the chip crumbs off the bed and gathers whatever small candy packaging or trash that’s around and stuffs it in the sack. He cleans as he overthinks, chewing the inside of his cheek as he wonders if he’s overreacting.

Sora seems fine with the prospect and Roxas worries if he should follow that example. But being so close to Sora, hands touching, legs accidentally bumping into each other, turning over to look each other in the eyes, faces close, closer than they’ve _ever_ been before…

Roxas falls back onto the bed after throwing the trash away, gloved hands rubbing at his eyes. He doesn’t know if he can do it. It would probably be better for him to sleep on the floor for his own sanity.

The sound of the toilet flushing reaches his ears, the sink turns on soon after, and a rush of panic whirls up in Roxas’ chest at the fact that they’re going to have to confront this. His heart’s already pounding in his chest, his hands shaking, his face getting hotter by the second. Sora isn’t even _near_ the bed and he’s already like this.

The door opens and Roxas sits up quickly, as if he’d been caught doing something incriminating.

Sora’s rubbing his hands together and the smell of lotion fills the small room. It smells like…melon and honey, pungent and calming. He pauses as he takes in Roxas’ general appearance: still wearing his coat and gloves, face flushed from thoughts and implications, and a fickle smile.

“You okay?” Sora walks up to the bed and places a honey-melon scented hand on Roxas’ forehead. “You feel a little warm.”

Roxas _doesn’t_ think about the way his body reacts to Sora being so close. He doesn’t think about how Sora’s chest is right in front of him. The metal of his necklace catches his eye, and leads his gaze straight to the dip in Sora’s tank top, his sternum and pectorals just _barely_ visible.

“‘M fine,” Roxas lies. He takes Sora’s wrist and brings his hand down, holding it in his lap. He berates himself. One second, he doesn’t want Sora touching him and the next, he does.

Sora, for the record, doesn’t look convinced but he doesn’t pry. He allows his hand to stay in Roxas’ hold and offers a shallow, “okay” that is both quiet and doubtful.

“Are we not going to talk about it?” Roxas blurts out.

“Talk about what?”

“The _bed_ ,” Roxas stresses, blue eyes accentuated by chary pink cheeks.

Sora blinks at him, his eyebrows drawn together in clear confusion, a follow-up question on the tip of his tongue, but then he takes in the _singular_ bed and the connotation reaches his eyes. They widen, Sora’s mouth opening and then closing abruptly. He holds Roxas’ embarrassed gaze for all of a second before he’s glancing downward at their hands. “O-oh.”

_There_ it is.

It’s funny how the two of them act under the weight of that truth. One minute they’re fighting side by side, hanging out, timidly testing the waters with each other...and then they’re too bashful to look each other in the eye. Roxas wants to laugh, but his throat is clogged up with hesitancy.

Sora speaks up suddenly, though his eyes never leave the floor. “It’s just... They didn’t have any other rooms available and--!”

“Whoa, wait,” Roxas squeezes Sora’s hand and then inwardly _shrieks_ because he just _squeezed Sora’s hand_. “I-I’m not mad at you, Sora.” _I could never be mad at you_ , is left unsaid though Roxas feels it strongly.

Sora squeezes his hand back, to Roxas’ immense surprise and shock. “Okay.”

“I just don’t know what to do regarding…” Roxas fumbles with the words, half of his mind still held up on the fact that they’re essentially holding hands. Or...holding _hand_ , anyway. It still counts.

“Regarding…?”

“Sleeping arrangements,” Roxas finishes.

There’s a point of affection and trust that comes with sharing close quarters like that. It’s not that Roxas doesn’t trust Sora; he trusts him more than anyone else, but...it doesn’t _stop_ at trust. There’s longing and attraction, feelings that Roxas has been content to leave dormant. The situation is crucial _because_ it’s Sora that he’d be lying next to. It’d be _Sora_ whose eyes he might see when he turns in the night. That makes all the difference, because Sora makes him feel a way that he hasn’t before, and Roxas _likes_ that feeling.

When he’s with Sora, that feeling only grows stronger, and if they share a bed where legs and feet might touch, hands might brush, and eyes might meet in the darkness of the hotel room, how much stronger would that feeling become? Would it start slow, curling up his legs and leaving him paralyzed? Would it shock him with the truth of his feelings? Leave him stunned and speechless with words caught in his throat?

Roxas is afraid to take that step forward, but there’s another part of him, curious and twisting with impatience, that wants to take a chance.

Sora has his own thoughts on the matter, blue eyes sternly focused on a spot on the nice carpet. His lips are thinned out, determination without the liveliness that Roxas is used to. A tenseness pervades the air as they settle into a silence that is both reflective and reluctant. But their hands are still joined together despite it all, and perhaps that says more than words ever could.

“I don’t mind…” Sora begins, pauses to lick his lips and Roxas wonders if they taste how he imagines. “I don’t mind if you don’t.”

Roxas blinks. “Sharing a bed?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

A smile catches on Sora’s lips and he looks up at Roxas. He’s every bit as nervous as before, but he’s pushing through it, timidity giving way to amusement. “Only if you’re cool with it.”

Roxas isn’t sure if he’s cool with it or not. With the feelings that he acknowledges and understands, he realizes that being so close to the person he likes will lead to a sleepless, stressful night, but on the other hand, _he will be close to the person he likes_. Even without accidental touches or eye contact, the shared body heat and proximity will be enough to leave him a mess.

And, most importantly, Sora doesn’t mind.

So Roxas’ smile builds gradually, touched by Sora’s concern about his comfort. He glances up and says, “I’m cool.”

And for the remainder of the night, he will have to pretend that he is.

Roxas’ boots rest underneath the desk next to Sora’s. His gloves are neatly folded on the bedside table next to two pairs of charging gummiphones. His coat hangs in the closet next to the bathroom. Sora’s red jacket hangs next to his. With the lamps off, the only light comes in the form of a peek of moonlit fluorescence through the crack in the curtains. It falls over the bed gently.

They rest underneath the plush white comforter and sheets. One fluffy pillow is given to each of them. Roxas pulls the comforter up to his chin, wanting to hide himself completely. He’s shirtless under the blanket, having worn nothing under his coat. He’s on his side, facing the window and the wide awake world outside. Sora is in front of him, laying on his back. He’s staring up at the ceiling and Roxas watches, quiet, patient, wondering what he’s thinking about.

Every time one of them shifts, they both tense. Roxas wants to laugh, but his heart doesn’t allow it.

Sora lifts his arms and places them behind his head. This is _torture_ for Roxas, whose gaze immediately falls to tan, well-defined arms. Between the grooves and indents of muscle, there are scars from years past. Roxas knows which encounter led to each one up to a certain point.

Suddenly, Sora laughs, running a hand through his hair as he turns to look over at Roxas. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous. We used to be the same person, y’know?”

Roxas heart jumps to his throat, but he croaks out a pitiful, “yeah.”

“We shared a heart once,” Sora continues, happily reminiscing. His eyes carry depth and calm in the low lighting.

“Mhm,” Roxas hums, moving the comforter away from his mouth so that Sora can see his smile. “Your heart was a nice place to be.”

Sora’s lips part slightly, his lovely eyes widening before he settles again, turning fully on his side to face Roxas. It is then that he realizes that they’re doing the very thing he’d been cautious of; facing each other in the dark. Sora looks every bit as breathtaking as he imagined, a shy smile on his face, cheeks a precious pink.

“I’m glad to hear that,” Sora whispers, and Roxas shivers. His voice is so low and sweet, a sip of hot tea that trails down Roxas’ throat and warms him from the inside out. Sora’s hand lays on the bed in the space between them. Regularly, Roxas’ eyes fall to it. That same twisting part of his heart urges him to reach forward, to make his feelings known in whatever way he can, because Sora _doesn’t mind_ sharing a bed, and Sora’s looking at him with kindness in his eyes.

Roxas will be content with this one small thing. A single touch, a breath of warmth, a physical connection to go along with the one in their hearts. He reaches out with reticent fingers and lightly touches Sora’s own. It feels much differently without his gloves and he flushes, tempted to hide his face again.

It’s the lightest of touches, most minimal of skin-to-skin contact, but their hands are _touching_. Roxas’ calloused fingers brush against Sora’s knuckles and the back of his palm and rest there, as if that’s where they belong.

Sora glances down at their hands and smiles. He pulls his left hand back just slightly to twine their fingers together. Their hands rest on the white bedding between them, warm and complete.

Roxas smiles in content and thinks to himself that this is _more_ than enough.

“Are you hiding from me?” Sora asks suddenly. He props his head up with his right hand and observes Roxas, eyes narrow, a grin on his face. Teaseful.

Roxas wants to reply in an equally playful manner, but the reasoning for his near total concealment brought embarrassment rushing back to his face. “No…” he mutters into the comforter. “I don’t have a shirt on under here.”

Sora blinks, blue eyes rapidly looking to Roxas’ own as a flush slowly covers his cheeks. “Oh,” he says, flustered. He stares down at their hands and goes quiet.

Roxas feels entirely responsible for the awkwardness between them. But, to his credit, he hadn’t planned on booking a hotel and staying overnight in San Fransokyo.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed. I’ve--I mean, I’ve seen you topless before,” Sora points out.

That’s true, but Roxas snorts anyway because, “ _you’re_ embarrassed, Sora.”

“N-no, I’m just surprised!” Sora retorts, his cheeks puffing up into a pout. He actually manages to look Roxas in the eyes this time. “I don’t know how you can lay there bundled up, anyway. It’s too hot.”

“Then turn the air on.”

“Then it’ll be too _cold!”_

Roxas laughs fondly. “I don’t know what you want.”

Sora does something interesting then. He’d been so animated a second before, but now he hones in on Roxas, his lips slightly parted, his eyes falling from Roxas’ eyes to something just below them. He’s not sure what Sora’s looking at and he raises a brow in clear confusion. The statement settles between them and their intertwined hands. Sora takes his time to answer or acknowledge or do anything besides looking at some spot on Roxas’ face.

It takes a second and then a few more for Roxas to realize that Sora is staring at his lips. _His_ lips. Openly. And he isn’t looking away.

That spark that’s been twisting and egging Roxas on in the back of his mind travels down to his tongue, and he does something that has the potential to make things worse or at the very least _more_ awkward, but he does it anyway.

Roxas licks his lips.

Nothing happens for a painful second, but then...slowly, cautiously…

Sora bites his own.

After taking in a breath that he hopes will revitalize him, Roxas asks, “do _you_ know what you want?”

Sora’s eyes meet his, finally. Those eyes of his -- curtained with complexity -- carry a message within cerulean blue. “I do.”

Roxas knows he does. There’s assurance in his expression, certainty. There’d been interest before, but now Roxas has let Sora know that it’s mutual. And so, there’s only one last step to take.

Roxas sits up slightly, letting the comforter fall from his shoulders and reveal a bare shoulder. Sora’s eyes are drawn to it and Roxas can see his eyes taking in every inch of revealed skin. Somehow, Roxas doesn’t flush under the blatant attention. He squeezes Sora’s hand to get him to refocus. “I’m thinking…” Roxas whispers, body trembling with energy wanting to be unleashed, ready to strike like a thunderbolt. “I want the same thing.”

An audible gasp is his only answer and Roxas can’t help but smile at the thunderstruck look on Sora’s face. But he doesn’t shy away, he doesn’t stumble over his words. He closes his mouth and his eyes darken with something so bewitching, Roxas can’t look away.

Sora grins with that same teaseful nature from earlier. “Then _show me.”_

Without another word, Roxas lifts their hands and moves closer to Sora on the bed. He has plenty to show, even more that he wants to see. Now that he knows Sora’s feelings on the matter, there’s nothing that can stop him. His heart is ready to leap out of his chest at the very thought of kissing Sora, of holding him in his arms and having any of that, _all_ of that, reciprocated.

They start simple, because that’s best. A slow, chaste kiss that leaves him with only a preview of what’s to come. It’s sweet and flustering, but Roxas pushes through those feelings. He is a bolt of lightning across the sky, an untamed and unpredictable force. When he pulls away to look at the pretty, blushing face of his heart, Sora is all smiles. He laughs, bashful and sweet and this time, he leans up to kiss Roxas first.

There’s a heat to the kisses. It collides with Roxas quickly, a hot burst of air that tinges his skin with sweat and sets his heart beating. They aren’t even kissing that deeply. They’re barely touching and _already_ , it’s so many feelings at once.

Sora’s tugging on Roxas’ hand, and Roxas follows. Between kisses and laughter, bangs tickling foreheads and cheeks, eyes looking upward, eyes gazing downward, there is movement and adjustment. Sora pulls until Roxas is straddling his hips, and Roxas is happy with this position, because he’s exactly where he wants to be.

Sora leans back against the large pillows and Roxas leans over him, following him down to capture his lips again. His hands tangle in brown spiky hair and Sora laughs, moving his arms around Roxas to hold him in place. Roxas smiles and the kiss breaks. Neither of them can stop smiling and laughing, it comes so naturally when they’re together. As Sora’s hands move up and down Roxas’ back in soothing motions, Roxas kisses Sora’s nose, his cheeks, his forehead, his chin, his jaw, everything. He kisses every bit of Sora’s face until Sora is a bundle of giggles and giddiness. But when he moves his hips with the intention to get more comfortable, the friction there suddenly jolts them both.

When did their breaths get so heavy? So hot? When did Sora’s eyes begin to simmer with a low flame? When did Roxas’ hand move under Sora’s tank top, fingers gliding over warm skin? All of these things happened so swiftly, and now that their minds have caught up with their actions, they look to each other for what to do next.

Sora’s hands have moved to Roxas’ waist, fingers resting above the waistband of his pants. He hooks his fingers into two of the belt loops and _pulls_.

Roxas grins down at him and _slowly_ rolls his hips.

They react to it in differently similar ways. They both release some barely audible sound, though Sora’s is much sexier, but then Sora jerks his hips, too, and Roxas moans as their clothed dicks move against one another. It’s so good that it’s worth repeating, and with the look in Sora’s eyes, flaming and eager, the only option is to keep going.

Roxas moves frustratingly slow, testing the waters, each second being measured and felt as they move together, and then back again. Sora gasps every time their cocks are in the highest point of contact, and then he settles down momentarily. His hands slide up Roxas’ back to rest on his shoulders. His face is a burning flame of embarrassment and arousal that Roxas memorizes.

So _slow_. Roxas hates and loves it. His fingers twitch in Sora’s hair, his toes curl in his socks. He wants to move _faster_. He needs something more than the bare minimum of friction. It’s not--It’s not enough, but he’s not sure if he can move further or if he _should_. But when he looks at Sora’s face and sees that same insistency, that same need echoed in his eyes…

Roxas moves the hand on Sora’s chest farther down. His fingers tug gently at the waistband of Sora’s pants, but nothing more. He looks up at Sora, beautiful and wanting in the dark. “Sora…”

Sora is in a bit of a frustrated stupor. Roxas has stopped moving, and his brows are furrowed with confusion, but at the sound of Roxas’ voice, he glances up. He understands what Roxas is asking and he swallows, his cheeks getting impossibly pinker. He nods once. “Okay,” he whispers, “but you, too. I want to see.”

Roxas stutters and Sora giggles again, syrupy sweet. He receives another kiss just for being adorable, and then Roxas moves his hand lower, unbuttoning Sora’s pants, pulling down his zipper, dipping into his boxers and feeling a heat that simultaneously embarrasses and arouses him. He wraps careful fingers around Sora’s cock and eases himself back, giving himself room to free him. Sora’s thick in his hand, throbbing, leaking with precum and desperate to be touched. Roxas is transfixed as he stares at Sora’s dick, and the only thing that manages to tear his eyes away is Sora, hiding his face in the pillow.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Roxas strokes Sora once, just to see, and Sora jerks, moving one hand away from Roxas’ waist to cover his mouth.

Roxas snickers. “Are you hiding from me?” He leans forward, kissing Sora's cheek and jaw until he relents and turns to look at him. “I thought you wanted to see?”

Sora groans, moving his hand to touch Roxas’ lips with careful fingertips. He’s wearing a goofy smile. “I do! I’m just…” He sighs, avoiding Roxas’ eyes no matter how badly Roxas tries to stay within his line of sight. “Okay. Okay! Show me.”

With one last kiss to Sora’s already puckered lips, Roxas sits back. His left hand is still holding Sora, stroking every so often to give him some stimulation. With his right, he unbuttons his own pants and frees himself, sighing deeply at the warm touch of his own hand. He feels Sora’s eyes on him, on the way he gives himself a quick stroke, enough to make his breath hitch, and then Sora’s hands are rapidly moving, grasping at his arms, tugging him closer, aching for his attention.

Roxas gives it to him without a second thought. He looks into blue eyes and floats along gentle waves. He soars among white clouds. Sora’s hands rest on his forearms and he squeezes, biting his lip. “Move over a little,” he instructs, moving his legs a bit. “We should--together. In one hand. Right?”

“Mhm,” Roxas murmurs, because he doesn’t trust his mouth to form words. He does as Sora wants, moving to the left slightly, moving their cocks together, and wrapping his left hand around them both. He sighs again and it turns needy toward the end. Then he moves his left hand, stroking them both. Up and down. Still slow, but it feels _so much better_. The heat and feeling of skin on skin, the warmth of Roxas’ hand, the precum that pools at the slit of their cocks and slowly leaks down.

Sora squeezes his eyes shut and digs his nails into Roxas’ arms. He seems to realize that what he’s doing could potentially cause Roxas pain, so he moves his hands quickly to Roxas’ neck. They stay there, and for the third time, Sora pulls them closer together. He wants them closer, he wants them so close there’s nothing in between, and Roxas can only give, give, and _give_ , because they want the same thing.

Their noses touch as they’re brought closer together. Their eyes lock on one another, they breath in together, and release it in tandem. They move in sync for one wonderful moment before Roxas strokes them again and Sora squeezes his eyes shut and digs his blunt nails into the nape of Roxas’ neck.

Roxas’ breath falls over Sora’s face in rough pants, dark blonde and brown fringe weaving together as their foreheads nearly touch. It’s so quiet outside of them, but in the space between their mouths, it’s a roaring sonance that’s enrapturing. Roxas can feel every breath Sora takes. He can feel the subtle twitches and jerks of his body. He can feel his every movement, his every sigh. He closes his eyes as he loses himself in it all.

A shaky exhale precedes an equally shaky, “ _Roxas_ ,” that has his eyes peering into dark blue. Roxas doesn’t dare move his left hand, but he does his right. It cups Sora’s cheek softly and a kiss is placed on the crease of his lips.

“Sora,” Roxas answers, but his voice doesn’t sound as heavenly. It’s much too deep and groggy. Not what he was going for at all, but it’s too late to take it back. He strokes them languidly in his hand to make up for it. Not too slow, but just enough to give them both something, but not too much. He doesn’t want to rush this. He doesn’t want it to end too soon.

Sora takes in a stuttering breath, closing his eyes in a harsh blink. His arms wrap tighter around Roxas’ neck and that inevitably brings them closer. “A little faster,” he whispers, pink lips moving just a fraction.

Roxas should’ve expected arousal to overtake the initial rush of intimacy. But there’s no harm in it, he supposes. Not when Sora’s fingers are digging into his neck and shoulders hard enough to bruise, and those lovely blue eyes and pink-tinged lips are his to admire and kiss for the night. He shifts his left hand slightly and moves imperceptibly closer so that his words tickle Sora’s nose.

“How fast?” Roxas asks, quickening his pace just the _slightest_ bit. “Like this?” He expects Sora to grow frustrated with him, to pout and tug until Roxas understands the urgency with which he wants to get off, but Sora only opens his eyes with an idyllic smile that steals Roxas’ breath away.

“ _Just_ like that,” Sora hums with an arch of his back. Their lips nearly touch from the action and Roxas decides to accept the invitation. He faintly presses his lips to Sora’s, featherlight and delicate. A careful touch of soft skin and the barest trace of wetness. A hint of strawberry follows Roxas, and he sweeps his tongue out to trace it along his own lips.

Sora follows the movement of his tongue with half-lidded eyes. Then he tilts his head upward to capture Roxas’ lips again, deeper this time, almost desperate.

Roxas moves his hand into Sora’s hair, fingers tangling into brown spikes and cradling his head. He opens his mouth at Sora’s request and shivers, Sora’s tongue carrying with it the taste of strawberry and soda. Throughout it all, Roxas continues to stroke them, but not at a consistency he imagines either of them are pleased with. He stops for a second, too focused on Sora’s tongue and the moans that leave his throat, but then he picks it up again. His fingers slide up and down their cocks, slick with precum. More gathers, leaking from the head of their dicks and Roxas catches it.

Sora moves his hips with impatience. He pulls away from Roxas’ mouth and the promise of mind-blowing kisses to grind against Roxas’ hand. He’s begging for more without saying a single word, and Roxas gives him as much as he can. Frequently, his hand nearly slips, but he keeps up the pace, kissing Sora's jaw and neck in the meanwhile.

Roxas nips at sweat-slick skin. He grunts in a mix of pain and pleasure at Sora’s fingers applying pressure to his shoulders. He breathes heavily as he presses his forehead against Sora’s neck. His inhales bring the scent of a kindling flame and salty air, and his exhales coat skin in a rush of hot air. Sora whines in his arms and Roxas laughs lowly into his neck.

Each stroke upward is punctuated with a bite to tan skin, but a kiss is pressed lovingly against it once Roxas’ hand moves down again. He pulls back from Sora’s neck to admire his work, to gaze at the spots of red skin that prove he’s been there, that _he’s_ the one who did this to Sora. And how pretty does _he_ look, dark blue eyes glazed over yet burning through that fog to stare deeply into Roxas’ own.

Sora pulls on his neck. “Come closer.”

Roxas does. He moves as close as he can get, once again reminding himself to keep his hand moving. It’s difficult to multitask with Sora’s eyes on him and his hands in Roxas’ hair. He gets love drunk on the taste of Sora’s lips, of his tongue, on the whispered half-words and muddled sounds that escape his mouth when they pull apart for air.

Sora’s breath hitches, and Roxas gasps. Sora inhales sharply, and Roxas shudders. Sora moans out his name, and Roxas comes undone.

“ _Sora_ ,” he whispers in the flawless space that only they occupy. His hands move faster of his own accord. His spine tingles and it spreads outward, making him shake and breath heavily right onto Sora’s lips. He is a bundle of frazzled nerves, a mess of twitchy fingers, and a helplessly in love counterpart to the absolute beauty beneath him. “ _Come for me_.”

Because Roxas wants to see it. He doesn’t want this to be over, but he knows that it has to end. All good things do. The ache in his stomach and the prickling on the surface of his skin tells him he’s close, too, but he wants to see Sora first.

There’s never been a time when Sora hasn’t been beautiful. It’s impossible. With eyes that light the deepest darkness and a smile that heals even the most severe ailment, Sora can only go higher. Roxas wants to see him reach that peak with his own eyes. He wants to see Sora in a way that he hopes no one else has seen him. He wants it all for himself, selfishly, helplessly, foolishly. He wants _Sora_ all to himself, at least in this moment, on this one night. He wants those eyes to look at him and _only_ him.

So, “ _come for me.”_ Roxas whispers again, incessant. His voice deep, a near growl that’s pressed against Sora’s plump lips. He furrows his brows and quickens his hand. He catches precum on his fingers and utilizes it. He rolls his hips. He sucks in Sora’s gasps and hiccuped breaths and presses closer, closer, and closer _still_. Roxas becomes Sora’s entire world for a fleeting moment and it feels so invigorating.

Sora’s torn between keeping his eyes open and squeezing them shut. His fingers pull on Roxas’ hair and then release it apologetically for any hurt he may have caused. He looks at Roxas desperately. He steals kisses between quick pants. He grinds his hips against Roxas’, matching the rhythm he set. He’s sweating, he’s shaking, he’s shuddering, he’s _gorgeous_ and Roxas can’t get enough of him.

“Rox… _hah-!”_ Sora bends his legs at the knee, trying to curl in on himself, but Roxas’ straddling position stops him. _“Roxas…!”_

He sounds so _fucking_ hot. Careless and dizzy with euphoria, Sora arches his back, the back of his head hitting the pillow as he thrusts up once into Roxas’ hand and comes with a voice-cracking moan. It starts out high and pretty and tapers off into something low and satisfied. And his _face_ , his face is everything Roxas hoped for and more. Sora’s mouth hangs open, desperate for air. He squeezed his eyes shut during the initial high, but he opens them now, deep blue staring through Roxas as he rides out his orgasm on a cloud of fluffy feelings. There’s a sheen of sweat on his face and neck, down his shoulders and arms. His hands are wrapped lazily around Roxas’ neck as he catches his breath.

Then Sora blinks, once, and his eyes focus on Roxas, staring at him with such intensity that Roxas forgets about the hot cum coating his fingers and taking in every detail of Sora’s post-orgasm face. Sora stares at him, truly _looks_ at him, then laughs under his breath and smiles.

Roxas comes right then and there.

Because those eyes are the bluest of seas incarnate. And that laughter is a gale that soothes and caresses. And that smile is the equivalent of the element of light, essential and warm. All of these features are aimed at him at once, and Roxas can’t withstand it. He breathes a moan against Sora’s lips, he shudders and straightens his back for just a moment, his body jerking and moving in involuntary ways, his thighs shake, his heart pounds, and Sora’s staring at him through it all with that same dreamy expression.

Roxas’ eyes drown in dark blue and fall further still. But what does he have to fear? Sora’s smile will light the way; it always has. There is light etched into every feature of his face. There is power and love in his heart and Roxas can feel it, palpable under his fingertips.

_I love you,_ Roxas wants to say, but he kisses Sora instead. He leans down until they’re chest to chest, heartbeats calming down together, and then he kisses him again. He kisses Sora and smiles into it when he feels Sora cup his cheeks. He kisses him again and again, and _still_ that sweetness of strawberry refuses to let go. Roxas chases it, savors it, runs his tongue along kiss-swollen lips that match the fruit that he can’t stop thinking of.

Outside the window, the sun rises and the activity of the city picks up to even higher levels. But they’re still here, curled together in the space just for them. The rest of the world wakes, but Sora and Roxas fall deeper into the dark, lips pressed together until sleep reaches up and captures them in its embrace.


End file.
